


praying only gets you on your knees

by newamsterdam



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crimson Flower Route, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Religious Discussion, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21315208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam
Summary: “Can I be honest with you, Hubert?” Ferdinand asks softly.“I’m not sure what I could do to stop you,” Hubert replies. Ferdinand has always espoused the value of truth— isn’t he the one always advising Edelgard of exactly what he thinks, almost without thought?Ferdinand’s lips twitch into a smile, and he almost laughs. What air escapes his lips cannot make it all the way, however, and is lost in a sigh instead.“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Ferdinand confesses.Hubert wonders if he sounds so vulnerable, so uncertain, when he talks to the Goddess.Hubert has never had need of the Church, or the Goddess. But Ferdinand still clings to his beliefs, even in the midst of war.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 33
Kudos: 569





	praying only gets you on your knees

Two months into this _liaison_ with von Aegir, and Hubert still isn’t sure whether it’s a good idea. It could be a distraction from the path he’s chosen to tread, a weakness for the Empire’s enemies to exploit, a desire that he will only let himself feel when he loses it. Most of all, von Aegir is increasingly present in Hubert’s life, in his plans, in his imaginings for the future. That is unsettling enough that Hubert wonders if he shouldn’t just kill the erstwhile ducal heir and be done with it.

Two years ago, just before the most pivotal moment of his life to that point, Hubert had been entirely content to discount Ferdinand von Aegir entirely. He never imagined that von Aegir would side against his father, against all he’d been raised to uphold, and against the Church itself. 

But Ferdinand— _von Aegir_— had surprised him. Lance in hand, he’d turned away from the Immaculate One and towards Lady Edelgard, towards their teacher— towards the side Hubert had always found himself on. For years, it was a lonely place, with only himself and Lady Edelgard aware of its existence. And then suddenly, within the space of moments, it was full of people— Lindhart and Caspar, Dorothea and Petra, Bernedetta and Ferdinand. 

Of all of their classmates, it was von Aegir that Hubert was the surest of. Despite the battles they’d fought together, Hubert was convinced that von Aegir would falter when the time came, and stand with what he’d been taught rather that what he’d learned. And it was von Aegir that Hubert was the most wrong about. 

Two years later, von Aegir has never wavered. He has become one of the most respected generals of the Imperial army, and one who fulfills a role Hubert never would have thought of. He comes to Hubert and says which battalions are wearing thin, which ones need the opportunity to do humanitarian work rather continuing to plow forward on the front lines, which ones need resupplying and which might benefit from one of Dorothea’s songs or Bernedetta’s plays, and which ones need to see Lady Edelgard, in all her glory, to remind them what they’re fighting for. 

In short, while Hubert is occupied with logistics, Ferdinand is ever-aware of morale. And though Hubert is loathe to admit it, without someone keeping track of the army in that way, the war would have been lost long ago.

He’s insufferable, but he’s become necessary. To the army. To Lady Edelgard’s cause. 

And if he ends up in Hubert’s bed seven nights out of ten, when their various deployments allow, and if he brings Hubert coffee with a smile that only just speaks of shyness, and if he reaches out to grasp Hubert’s shoulder and it feels like the support of armies and the entire Empire— 

Even if all that is true, von Aegir isn’t necessary _to Hubert_. He’s just one more piece of the cause, and Hubert assesses and maintains him as he would their stock of armor, or their supply lines, or the Imperial horses.

“_You don’t care for them very well at all_,” Ferdinand had laughed at him, as he patted down his own horse’s neck and cooed at it sweetly. “_Yes, they have enough hay and water and a place to be stabled for the night. But have you asked them how they are? Have you seen if any of their shoes have slipped? Have you told them they’ve done a wonderful job? Yes, yes you have, Aria, you’ve done wonderfully_—” 

He’d proceeded to rub his nose against the horse’s, and that was when Hubert decided to take his leave. 

Why would he ever learn to deploy von Aegir’s methods? Isn’t that why they’ve kept him around this long?

Hubert huffs, tucking his hands into the pocket of his coat as he walks across the grounds of Garreg Mach. Aside from the color of the livery and the tenor of the townspeople, the monastery isn’t much changed. It’s only when you get close to the cathedral that you notice— the grand facade brought down and shattered, as thoroughly as Lady Edelgard is going to shatter the lies of the Church and Archbishop Rhea.

He never cared for religion, even before the war began. Even before they’d solidified the false goddess as a target. For his entire life, his outlook has been simple— if the Goddess exists, she has done nothing to spare Lady Edelgard or countless others their suffering, and if that is the case, she deserves no worship. It isn’t atheism; it’s indifference. 

Even so, he steps into the hollow cathedral with an intake of breath. Dying sunlight filters in through the ruined apse, casting the stones aglow. Hubert’s boots— military-issue and not meant for spying— make soft clicks against the stones as he heads up the naive and towards the ruins of the altar. Despite the noise, the lone figure in the cathedral does not turn to him, nor acknowledge him in any way.

The setting sun sets his hair on fire, bringing out every shade of orange and bronze and gold. Turned towards the space where the altar had been, hands folded at the small of his back and face turned gently upwards, he might be a statue of some ancient saint. _Saint Cichol, Worshipping_, Hubert thinks, would make a suitable title.

Except, as he continues forward, he realizes that Ferdinand doesn’t seem to be praying at all. His lips are pulled down in a frown, his brows drawn together, his mouth not moving at all, not even in the absent way that habitual believers skip through their prayers. 

His hands, clenched at his back, are _shaking_.

He doesn’t notice Hubert until he steps up behind him, casting a shadow over Ferdinand’s gilded brilliance. 

Ferdinand doesn’t move, but his eyes flicker shut and he holds them closed, so tightly that it must be on purpose, to feel the strain. 

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says dryly, his normal nonchalance lost in the crack of his voice. “I didn’t think you ever made it out to the cathedral.”

“I don’t make a habit of it,” Hubert says, agreeing and disagreeing at once. He doesn’t add— _I came here to find you_.

“It’s as good a spot as any, to think,” Ferdinand continues. “Better than most, these days, since it’s so often quiet. I think less and less people come to pray, and more to… _reflect_.” 

“Is that what you’re doing,” Hubert murmurs. He often _reflects_, himself, but he doubts it leaves him looking so brittle. Ferdinand looks like a dried kindling caught in the wind and fire, ready to snap and succumb at any moment. 

Ferdinand shakes his head. Both of them are still facing forwards, and not towards each other. When a lock of Ferdinand’s hair falls forward over his shoulder, Hubert sees it out of the corner of his eye, Ferdinand’s face in sculpted profile. 

“Can I be honest with you, Hubert?” Ferdinand asks softly.

“I’m not sure what I could do to stop you,” Hubert replies. Ferdinand has always espoused the value of truth— isn’t he the one always advising Edelgard of exactly what he thinks, almost without thought? 

Ferdinand’s lips twitch into a smile, and he almost laughs. What air escapes his lips cannot make it all the way, however, and is lost in a sigh instead. 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Ferdinand confesses. 

Hubert wonders if he sounds so vulnerable, so uncertain, when he talks to the Goddess.

“I— I don’t regret it,” he continues immediately, amber eyes darting towards Hubert and then back, as though frightened of his reaction. “I never once have thought I made the wrong choice. But I— I feel as though the world keeps crumbling beneath me, and there is so little left to stand on.”

There has only ever been one pillar in Hubert’s life. He cannot imagine a world in which he does not serve Lady Edelgard; he does not think such a universe exists, in all the many possibilities of time and creation. There is no conceiving of what he would do without Lady Edelgard to believe in, because he will never have to live that life. 

“And I would— I mean.” Ferdinand clears his throat. “It was never just one thing. I was nine when my father took control of the capitol, the entire Empire. I think I knew even then that if I inherited his position, I would not follow in his footsteps. I could not be fueled by belief in _him_ of all people.”

Hubert turns towards Ferdinand and crosses his arms over his chest. There’s no use interrupting Ferdinand when he gets going, so Hubert merely waits.

“It was more abstract, I think,” Ferdinand says. His eyes are glassy, his gaze aimed at something beyond the ruins of the apse and altar. “Knowing, believing, that the Goddess was with me as long as I tried to be good and true and _right_. And I did try.” His hands fall to his sides, impotent, and then immediately clench into fists. 

“If this is about the latest intelligence reports…” 

“It’s not!” Ferdinand says, voice crackling like a flame. “Or, it isn’t, quite. I knew. I knew we’d be going against our schoolmates, our friends. I knew even then, and yet it did not make me hesitate.” 

“So then?” Hubert prompts, voice low and deep and utterly devoid of emotion.

“They think the Goddess is on their side, too!” Ferdinand throws his hands skyward, face veiled for a moments as his hair sweeps upwards before settling down around his shoulders. “Marianne, and Mercedes, do you know how often I spoke to them of such things? They are both as devout as they come, and if the Goddess should be on anyone’s side, shouldn’t it be theirs? I had no trouble believing such things, when we were all just schoolmates. But now— if the Goddess is with either of them, it means she cannot be with me, or with the other. Don’t you see? The larger this war gets, the more it means that the Goddess has turned her back on so many people who sincerely follow her, who pray to her for safety and mercy and blessing! So where— where does that leave us?”

Hubert shrugs. “You have to know that I never counted on the Goddess as an asset for this war.”

Only now does Ferdinand turn to look at him, head tilted sideways. “Well. You didn’t count on me, either. And where would you be without me?”

That shocks Hubert into a dark laugh, and he runs one hand over his face. “No, I did not count on you. And if I didn’t have you, I would have found a way to push forward regardless.”

The playful smile on Ferdinand’s lips drops away, and his expression stutters as he straightens up. “Ah. I expect you would have.”

He needs something, Hubert realizes belatedly. He came here to find something, and he hasn’t, yet.

It isn’t his proudest moment, realizing how often he takes from Ferdinand without thought. There are the noises he wrings out of him in bed, the steely iron of his grip against Ferdinand’s hips, the harsh press of his lips and teeth against Ferdinand’s sun-speckled skin. And Ferdinand, generous spirit that he is, gives without restraint of himself. Just like he always seems to know when Hubert needs a clasp on the shoulder, or a soft smile across the war room table, or an extra cup of coffee. He anticipates Hubert’s needs, and meets them before Hubert even realizes them himself. 

_What do you need_, Hubert wants to scream. But he knows the instant he has to ask, he will have failed.

“Will it stop you?” Hubert wonders aloud. “Will you pull your final blow to save Marianne von Edmund or Mercedes von Matriz, because you believe it is the Goddess’s will that they be saved?” He tries to keep the irony from dripping off his voice, but he has never spoken of the Goddess without mockery.

Ferdinand looks down at his feet, but shakes his head. “No,” he says quietly.

“What was that?”

Ferdinand looks up, fire blazing in his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t. And not just because I cannot make heads or tails of what I think the Goddess’s will _is_! It’s because I believe in what we are doing here, Hubert, and if I can spare our friends and achieve it, then I will! But if I can’t spare them, if the cost is the new world we want to build, the dream that Edelgard has shared with us— then I can’t. It isn’t worth it.”

Hubert steps forward, presses a gloved hand to the back of Ferdinand’s neck and strokes over his cheek with his other hand. “Good,” he murmurs. Before he can think better of it, he presses his kiss to Ferdinand’s forehead. 

Ferdinand shudders before he looks up at him. The shiver that runs through him could be the force of lightning extended from Hubert’s own hands.

He leans in, resting his head against Hubert’s shoulder. “I know what I believe,” Ferdinand says quietly. “But it’s easier when that rests on something that I can be sure of, even when I’m not sure of myself.”

Hubert scoffs. “When has Ferdinand von Aegir ever been unsure of himself?”

Ferdinand pushes against him, one hand on Hubert’s chest, over his heart. “My whole life,” he confesses. “Until I saw our professor take two steps that changed the entire world, and I realized I believed in them, and in Edelgard, and in you. And even though you didn’t trust me with your plans, I trusted you enough to know that if that was the path you’d chosen, it was a path to something _good_.”

Hubert chokes out a laugh. “I have drenched you in blood,” he protests. 

Ferdinand shakes his head. “You have shouldered burdens that none of the rest of us could bear, for the sake of a future that we can only imagine. I cannot— I wish I had the strength of your convictions, Hubert. I wish I didn’t need others to support what I think, to reaffirm my own beliefs. And yet still I come here, and I wonder— if the Goddess is up there, looking down on us from a star, is this her will?” 

“You don’t need a Goddess to reaffirm for you,” Hubert spits. 

“Hubert?”

He puts his hands on Ferdinand’s shoulders, pushing him away. Ferdinand looks confused, his insecurity broken for a moment, and suddenly it clicks together in Hubert’s mind, like the lynchpin of a convoluted plot discovered. He presses down on Ferdinand’s shoulders, guiding him to his knees.

“You don’t need her,” Hubert says again. “Whatever your doubts, whatever your misgivings— she will not answer you. But I will.”

Ferdinand’s eyes go dark and trusting, and for a moment Hubert thinks that he is the wickedest soul to ever walk the earth, because he has taken something so fine and golden and bent it out of shape. But if Ferdinand is like a sword, or his favored lances, then he is made of stuff that strengthens under fire, folded and beaten into better shape. 

Ferdinand places his hands on Hubert’s thighs, gloved fingers dancing like a ballet company in motion. 

Hubert brushes the burnished hair back from his brow, looks down at him with an impassive expression. “None of us have use for gods who do not answer us. You deserve to worship something that could never ignore you.”

Ferdinand swallows, the apple of his throat bobbing. Hubert drags his fingers across it, feeling Ferdinand shiver beneath him.

“What can you be sure of, von Aegir?” Hubert whispers.

Ferdinand blinks, eyes glassy behind pale lashes. He nods in understanding. “You.”

He readjusts back to his former grip— one hand at the back of Ferdinand’s neck, the other cupping his cheek, and pulls Ferdinand forward. Ferdinand comes along like a puppet on a string, utterly at the mercy of Hubert’s pull. He presses Ferdinand’s face against his groin, and even though he’s fully clothed there’s a sense of defilement when he presses his hardening length against Ferdinand’s cheeks, his lips. 

“Do you know what gods do,” Hubert whispers darkly.

Ferdinand presses his lips to the clothed outline of Hubert’s half-hard cock, and shakes his head.

“They expect worship,” Hubert tells him. “Worship without the promise of reward, or answer. You serve your god for its sake, not your own.”

On his knees, Ferdinand looks up at Hubert and nods. “I,” he says, pausing to lick his lips. “I can do that.”

Hubert hums, then waves an idle hand. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Ferdinand often comments that Hubert wears more clothing than is strictly necessary. For Hubert, pockets and folds to hide weapons and poisons and all else are more than necessary. But at certain times, he does take Ferdinand’s point.

Ferdinand leans up to unhook all the fastenings of Hubert’s coat, and when Hubert shrugs off the heavy garment it falls to the floor, a shadow made solid around them. Ferdinand undoes Hubert’s belt, and then the fastenings of his trousers. He glances up at Hubert then, waiting for permission.

Hubert laughs. “Didn’t I tell you? The gods will not answer. You can only act as you will, and hope you earn their pleasure.”

Ferdinand nods, almost to himself. He licks his lips again, and for a moment Hubert regrets that he hadn’t just pulled him into a kiss. A different man would have just offered Ferdinand affirmation and comfort, without all these trappings. 

But Ferdinand does not stop to think about what a different man would do for him, or if he does the thought does not deter him. He frees Hubert’s cock, pulling it into the amber light of the room, and holds it in a cautious grip. He brings his face close, and sighs as though the heady scent of Hubert’s arousal is enough to please him. 

Ferdinand can level armies with the swing of his lance, can take entire battlefields on the back of his horse. And yet when he looks up at Hubert with pink cheeks and wet lips, he’s as delicate as a flower. 

Hubert’s pulse pounds, his cock throbbing as Ferdinand’s grip tightens. Ferdinand leans forward, wetting his lips against his tongue, and then proceeds to worship.

He starts softly, licking across the length of Hubert’s cock, pausing to sigh against his skin. As he leans in, his fair falls forward across his shoulder. He comes to the crease of Hubert’s hip, pressing kissing into his skin. 

“Do you want an impassive god?” Hubert wonders. He cannot help himself from reaching out to brush his fingers through Ferdinand’s hair, and when Ferdinand looks up at him, his pupils gone dark, he cannot help how his grip tightens.

In answer, Ferdinand shakes his head. “No,” he says, breathless. “No, I’ve had enough of silent gods.”

So Hubert keeps his grip tight, and pushes Ferdinand back towards his cock. Ferdinand’s hands drop to the tops of his own thighs, clenching. Hubert guides him softly, slowly. Ferdinand opens his mouth just as he should, and Hubert uses his other hand to guide himself into the warmth of Ferdinand’s mouth.

It would put too fine a point on it, to call it divine. Ferdinand has done this for him before, but it’s always been a performance. Ferdinand teases him, and winks at him, and pulls off with a satisfied laugh as Hubert comes across his face.

Now, Ferdinand has gone still, his breathing shallow as Hubert presses into his mouth. He works his lips and tongue, but lets Hubert set the pace. And Hubert, as controlled as he tries to be, loses his measured pace as he succumbs to the soft, wet feeling that Ferdinand surrounds him with.

There might be a world where he doesn’t have this, Hubert thinks frantically. A world where he paid for the mistake of not trusting Ferdinand von Aegir, and Ferdinand turned against him. A world where instead of taking tea with him, and lying with him, and relying on him, he only sees Ferdinand on the other side of a battlefield, and knows he has to cut him down to achieve the ends he so desires.

He tightens his grip on Ferdinand’s hair, thrusts into his mouth so hard that Ferdinand gags. Drool drips from between his lips, his breath just a whisper of air in through his nose.

“I am not as fickle as the _Goddess_,” Hubert spits, and Ferdinand whines as Hubert pulls back and then thrusts forward again. “If you devote yourself to me, I will use you. I will hear you, and respond. I will give back to you what you offer to me.”

They’ve never spoken in such terms, even with the veil of metaphor. Their liaison is just that— a mutual convenience, something than begun because of proximity and has lasted only because of the demands of war. Or so Hubert has tried to convince himself.

“—bert.” Ferdinand chokes around him, lips red. He has tried to match Hubert’s pace, to pleasure him even as Hubert pushes to use him. His tongue curls around the head of Hubert’s cock, and it’s so— so slight, but elegant, a reminder of the man Ferdinand is and always will be, and it sends Hubert’s arousal spiking like lightning in his veins. 

“You,” Hubert breathes. “You are _impossible_ to ignore.” 

Ferdinand looks up at him, his head pulled back by the roots of his hair, his eyes reflecting the amber of the dying sun. He tries to smirk, but his mouth is too full of Hubert’s cock. Instead, he sucks Hubert in as deep as he can, his hands clenching at his sides. His face is flushed with it, and all Hubert can think is that if the Goddess is so foolish as to throw away this believer, then Hubert will not make her mistakes. 

His fingers curl in Ferdinand’s hair, against his scalp. He presses Ferdinand forward, until his nose is deep against the curling black hair of Hubert’s groin. He tries to take a breath, but the world goes white around him as he comes, aware only of the soft flutter of Ferdinand’s breath against his skin, the wetness of Ferdinand’s breath around his cock, the silky texture of Ferdinand’s hair clenched in his hand. 

Ferdinand groans around him, and Hubert closes his eyes to better hear the sound. It’s only when Ferdinand begins to choke in earnest that Hubert pulls back, his seed dripping from Ferdinand’s lips. 

“_Goddess_,” Hubert curses, his own voice hoarse. 

Ferdinand takes a panting breath, resting his hands on either side of Hubert and putting his weight against them for support. “I thought we were to—” he coughs, “—leave the Goddess behind?” 

Hubert drops to his knees, pulling Ferdinand towards him and his kissing his come-stained lips. Ferdinand’s eyes go wide, but he pushes back into the kiss, his tongue curling around Hubert’s the same way it curled around his cock.

He moves to grasp Ferdinand’s own erection, straining in the confines of his trousers. Instead, Ferdinand edges forward and straddles him, rubbing insistently against his thigh.

“I would, for you—” Hubert starts, but Ferdinand demands another kiss, and Hubert can only oblige him.

Ferdinand chases his own pleasure, skin flushed a delicious red. He leans his head back, and Hubert follows the line of his throat with his teeth and tongue. Ferdinand’s breath comes in short, frantic pants, and Hubert reaches into his hair and tugs, in time to the way Ferdinand is grinding against him.

“You are—” Ferdinand gasps, and then Hubert feels a wetness against his thigh, and Ferdinand slumps forward against him, the puppet’s strings finally cut.

Hubert wraps an arm around him, keeps the other stroking through his hair. He’s murmuring something, but all he’s sure of is that it isn’t the rote prayers that every child in Fódlan learned. 

“You are so very tender with me, von Vestra,” Ferdinand sighs, pressing close against Hubert’s chest.

Hubert looks down at him, one eyebrow carefully arched.

“You never would ignore me, and you would tell me, one way or the other, if you thought I was right. In fact, I could not stop you from doing so.” 

Hubert traces the line of Ferdinand’s jaw with his fingers, then huffs in acknowledgment. That much was true even before he realized how beautiful Ferdinand is, or knew how magnificent he looks when he comes. 

“I do not know that I would follow you no matter what,” Ferdinand admits. “But having you beside me, I know I needn’t trust only myself. If nothing else, you will judge me as much as I will judge myself.”

Hubert does not know that that is the place he wants to occupy in Ferdinand’s life, but isn’t that the role they’ve always fallen into, for one another? “If you must know,” Hubert says, “I judge that you are very good for the army’s morale, and very bad for my own focus.”

“I did not ask you to seek me out,” Ferdinand reminds him.

Hubert strokes a hand through his hair, then presses another kiss to Ferdinand’s brow. “No,” he agrees. “But I do not think even the Goddess could have stopped me.”

Ferdinand colors once more, his face as red as the last rays of the sun. Hubert tilts his chin up, and Ferdinand eagerly leans into another kiss. 

If there are any gods around them, they are irrelevant. All Hubert needs is the people he believes in, and the ones he will keep reaching towards.

Ferdinand laughs. “Is that so? You’re always so poetic at these times.”

Hubert does not blush, but his face is hot as he noses against the soft skin of Ferdinand’s neck. “Do not mock me, von Aegir. Not when I have all the proof I need that you will reach back for me.”

Ferdinand puts his arms around Hubert and holds him close. As they have desecrated the Goddess’s church, the moment feels very like the one two years ago, when Ferdinand walked away from the Archbishop and towards Hubert, the two of them believing in the same cause. It may not be worship, but it is belief. And perhaps that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> title from the weepies' "red red rose."
> 
> tell me what you thought here or hit me up on twitter! i'd love to hear from you :)
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/newamsterdame) | [tumblr](https://newamsterdame.tumblr.com/)


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